Breaking and Entering
by ALittleToast
Summary: When a corpse shows up in Autopsy that doesn't quite belong, with a message written across his chest, NCIS goes into panic mode. McAbby, Tiva, some Jibbs.
1. Chapter 1

So this would be my first NCIS fic, not to mention my first multi-chaptered fic (I like oneshots). I get a lot of ideas for cases and this is one of my personal favorites—so I decided to actually write it. It should play out like a usual episode, except with more non-case related scenes. I definitely plan on including some McAbby, Tiva, and maybe even a little Jibbs, in the coming chapters. Yeah, I'm one of those people who refuses to believe the whole thing with Jenny. She'll be back!

I'm really undecided on the track this will take (though I have a rough idea) so…bear with me? BTW, your ideas and support are going to be what keeps me writing!

Disclaimer: If I owned NCIS, I would be rich. And I'm not. Logic says I don't own NCIS.

--

"Ziva!" declared Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo, standing abruptly as his partner entered the bullpen. "You're 15 minutes late."

"And?" She smiled a falsely pleasant smile.

"It's just that, there's no way for you to know if Gibbs has been in yet."

"He has not."

"How can you be sure?" Ziva shrugged. Tony returned to his chair, leaning back, victory evident in his grin. "Lucky guess, then." She twitched.

"His computer is not on, his chair is still pushed in and you are not working." Tony's face fell. From the other side of the room, McGee let forth a quiet chuckle.

"Probie!" cried Tony, on his feet once again. With all the arrogance he thought he was entitled to as senior field agent, he strode over to the younger man's desk and pointed at him. "What are _you_ laughing at?"

"Well, Tony, I just find it kind of amusing that your powers of observation are so rusty that you didn't even realize that Ziva could out observe you any day." DiNozzo glared—the Probie was getting better at his comebacks.

"Very funny, McProb-a-lot, seeing as you couldn't spot a clue if smacked you on the nose."

"A clue? Take my advice, Tony," said Tim, turning back to his computer. "A little less Scooby Doo, a little more working."

In the throes of this exchange, to which Ziva looked on happily from her corner of the squad room, none of the three agents noticed the entrance of a familiar face—who did not often find himself upstairs. It was her, however, who did finally spot and identify their visitor.

"Ducky?" Both McGee and DiNozzo's attention instantly turned to the elderly gentleman standing before them. Dr. Mallard did not look himself. Rather, he appeared puzzled. (They all knew that Ducky spent more time sure of himself than he did at the other end of that spectrum.) It was the perfect time for an entrance from Leroy Jethro Gibbs. He arrived, coffee in hand, and practically swooped across the room to stand about a foot away from his old friend.

"What's the matter, Duck?"

"Well, Jethro, it seems that there is a body in Autopsy."

Tony interjected, "No offence, Ducky, but there are a lot of bodies in Autopsy."

"Yes, Anthony, that would be the case. It so happens, however, that this body is unmarked, with no apparent form of identification, and I have never seen him before in my life."

--

Led by Gibbs and Ducky, the team entered Autopsy to the relief of a visibly nervous Palmer, who stood over the corpse of a middle-aged, non-descript man.

"Brown hair, average build, no obvious tattoos or scars," Ducky was informing a bewildered Tony, Ziva, and McGee, as well as their stoic leader. "I arrived this morning not very long ago, to find him simply lying there. I have already, with the gracious help of Mr. Palmer, conducted a full inventory and found that there are no other cadavers or any equipment missing. It seems that last night, someone broke into NCIS with a body in tow, made it down to Autopsy to deposit said body, and then escaped without leaving any other obvious signs he had been there. But Jethro—"

"Oh my _God_," exclaimed McGee, as they had now reached the body and had a good view of it.

"Well, yes. I was about to say that the break-in is not even the worst of it. As you can see, someone is trying to send us a message."

Carved into the gray, marble skin of the dead man's chest, the text red with traces of blood rolling off it, was an ominous warning:

WATCH YOUR BACK, NCIS.

There would have been a moment of silence to truly appreciate the weight of the situation, if this had been anyone other than Gibbs. There would have been a second for it to sink in that they were in danger—that someone who had a vendetta against them, whether as an agency, a team, or even a person, had already breached their security without anyone having even known until the body he left behind was discovered. However, the agent, who had been called many, many things in his life, but never _stupid_, knew that allowing his people to brood would only make it harder for them to catch whoever the hell had left not a threat on their doorstep, but stuck to their fridge.

"DiNozzo," he barked. "Get your gear, I want you to shoot and sketch. Ziva, check all the entrances for obvious signs of an intruder. McGee, security footage from last night." The trio charged out of the basement.

"Jethro—" began Ducky.

"Yeah, yeah, I know, Duck." He fumbled for his phone in a pocket. "I'm calling her."


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Right, so, this one isn't nearly as good as the first, though it has its moments. There are some awkward spots and some awesome ones. You all can be the judge.

A note for future chapters, my romance scenes are very, very…well, fluffy, I guess. No one will be jumping into bed spontaneously, getting pregnant spontaneously, or even making out spontaneously. It's just not how I roll. I do cute, not serious. If there's any true love stuff going on, it's probably going to manifest in a character's thoughts. I just thought I put that out there as a warning.

--

Abby, who didn't take kindly to threats on her or anyone close to her, was holed up in her lab, simultaneously devouring a pile of candy bars and chugging Caf-Pow. She had a store of a least five waiting in her fridge.

"McGee!" She addressed her co-worker through a mouthful of chocolate, as he sat staring at the plasma, while hours of dull footage flew by. His expression was blank; not much went on at NCIS throughout the early hours of the morning. "How are you not scared? I'm like, freaking out. I can't stop shaking."

"That's probably all the sugar and caffeine you're cramming down your throat."

"But still, someone could be plotting our deaths right this very second!"

"I'm a little apprehensive, I guess." He shrugged. "Not scared. The threat wasn't specific. We have no way of knowing if it's you or me or—"

"Everyone in the building!" Abby gasped, wide-eyed. "See, that's exactly why it's so scary. We could all blown up, or shot, or they could block the fire exits and burn us alive."

"Have you thought about this before?"

"You know me, Timmy. I think of _everything_." McGee smiled, but the expression did last long. Almost as soon as Abby spoke, a very curious anomaly popped up on the plasma. Both Goth and Geek processed it in the same moment. "Whoa."

"Well, I don't see a corpse."

--

Felix the mail boy handed Tony a bundle of envelopes and a quarter pounder with extra cheese. The agent nodded.

"Thanks, man." He slipped ten bucks into the kid's hand. "Keep the change."

"No problem, Agent DiNozzo, sir." Felix continued on his route, cart in tow.

"Good kid." He unwrapped the burger and took a giant bite, chewing and postulating. He leaned against Agent David's desk, his back to her, staring up idly. "What do you think they're doing in there?"

"Who, the Director and Gibbs?"

"Well, yes, the Director and Gibbs, Ziva." Tony disliked when others failed to listen to him. Especially her. "Who'd you think I was talking about, Ross and Rachel?"

"I am not familiar with these people."

"Of course not." He returned a steady gaze to the balcony, and more specifically, the door to the Director's office. "Either they're arguing or having a little roll in the hay."

"You know," Ziva looked up from her work thoughtfully. "I am beginning to believe that it is not merely my imagination, but that you really do think about sex _all _the time_._"

"Oh, but that is where you are mistaken, my dear Ziva! If I think about sex all the time, then where do you figure in all the film trivia?" He swung around to give the Israeli a classic, eye-brow raised, bug-eyed, expectant stare. Her only response was a dry laugh.

Enter McGee, panting heavily and eyes shiny with the excitement of discovery.

"Couldn't—wait for—the elevator," he sputtered between gasping breaths. "Found something—Gibbs?"

"That is too pathetic for words." The youngest agent threw Tony a depreciative glare. "He's going at it with the director," DiNozzo continued. He turned back to Ziva, grinning. "Get it?"

Her answer could only be described as monotonous: " 'Going at it' is a phrase which, depending on the situation, can signal a heated debate or sex." McGee tilted his head.

"Oh, Probie," Tony crooned. "Leave the grown up talk to the grown ups."

Gibbs had made it down the stairs and most of the way to the squad room.

Tony was taken by surprise, jumping as the older man flew by. "Snuck up on us there, boss."

"Nothing gets by you, DiNozzo."

"I saw him coming." Ziva spoke up. "I simply chose to keep my tap shut."

"Trap," chorused her partners.

"Reports!" Gibbs snapped. "DiNozzo first."

"Took photos of Autopsy, and the body, boss. Sent them to Abby so she can do her face recognizing…thing."

"Ziva."

"I searched the entrances and perimeter. No signs of a break-in, but I did find a set of civilian clothes dumped in a stairwell. All black."

"McGee."

"Well, boss, it's kind of—I need to, um, show you something. Downstairs."

"Jeez, Probie," muttered DiNozzo as they sped towards the elevator. "Could you make life any harder right now?"

--

Now, in the lab, Tim spoke, obviously more comfortable. He flipped through endless video, remote in hand.

"I went through all the security footage from yesterday at 1900 to this morning at 0800, when Ducky got in. On the camera in Autopsy, the body just shows up around three AM. Someone most likely set it on a loop, and the guard watching the live tape didn't notice. I almost missed it, too."

"And how is this helpful, McGee?"

"Well, boss, I was looking at the tapes of all the entrances before 3 AM, when I saw something—"

"When _we_ saw something," Abby chimed.

"Around 2 o'clock, two men enter the building through a backdoor that can only be accessed with an electronic NCIS security pass—similar to the kind you swipe to get into a hotel room. Anyway, it's impossible to get an ID on the second person, but the first is definitely our dead guy. And since none of us recognized the John Doe, the second person either stole a pass or—"

"—is one of us."


	3. Chapter 3

This chapter turned out really, really long. Almost a third more than what I usually do. I really wanted to fit that last scene in there, though. Also, I did not have my usual editor to make suggestions, so if this seems unpolished, that would be why.

Uhm, another random note. My writing is very minimalist. I use mostly dialog and basic actions, with the occasional important thought process thrown in. I know this is contrary to the way many prose writers do their thing, but I've always been better at scripts than novels. I hope it hasn't turned anyone off just yet.

In the future, don't expect a chapter a day. Just…don't. I have no idea where my momentum is coming from right now (maybe from the WONDERFUL support I get from reviews) but it can't last.

One last thing! The next chapter is already shaping up in my mind to be pretty awesome. Don't forget to tune in.

Alright, that wasn't the last thing. The last thing is that, as I write this, there are exactly 26 minutes until the new episode Dagger airs on CBS. YEE! [/exceedingly lengthy author's note]

--

"It's not necessarily an agent," McGee was saying. "NCIS employs cleaning staff, analysts, technicians—not to mention the general Navy Yard workers. They all could have access."

Abby took over. "Using the height of the wall and our friend downstairs, I calculated a height for the mystery man. He's about five ten, with a lean build."

McGee, now hunched over the computer adjacent to Abby, interrupted her. "Searching the log of visitors who used their cards to—" She continued to speak. Their words were overlapping now. Gibbs' eyes flew back and forth between the two at speeds previously unknown to man.

"I tried to get an ID off Double M's—that's mystery man, Gibbs—little cameo in the footage."

"—get in through that entrance—"

"—all I can make out is that—"

"—got it, boss. The last card swiped belonged—"

"—he has light hair. The resolution is no good, and there's too many shadows." McGee had suddenly, finally fallen silent. He was gazing at the screen, truly dumbfounded.

Gibbs growled at him, "_What_?"

"You aren't gonna like it, boss." All he received in exchange for this comment was a definitively icy stare. "According to the electronic record, the last person to enter the doorway in question was Anthony DiNozzo."

Every set of eyes in the room flew to Tony.

"Who, me? Impossible," he turned to Gibbs. "I don't even have one of those pass card things!"

"Sorry, Tony." McGee gestured toward the monitor in front of him.

As the panic set in, DiNozzo shoved his way across the lab, nearly crushing Abby against her desk and Gibbs' foot in the process. He jerked the screen to the side so it would face him, a mere inch from his nose. He failed to recognize that he was now in very close proximity to the Probie.

"You're in my bubble, Tony."

"Deal with it, McDowner."

"It's not polite to push people." Abby frowned.

"Sorry, Abs. Things are a little hinky in Tonyville right now." She gave him an understanding nod.

"DiNozzo," started Gibbs. "You sure you don't have a card?"

"If I do, boss, I don't remember."

"They handed them out last year." Ziva spoke for the first time. "Tony threw his into a desk drawer without much thought."

"Go check your desk, DiNozzo."

"On it, boss." Tony galloped out of the room. Gibbs checked his watch. They had wasted too much time.

"McGee, cross reference Abby's criteria with NCIS employees who could have grabbed DiNozzo's card."

"Running it now."

"Ziva, go back and process the entrance where they got in." She nodded curtly and exited in a significantly calmer manor than Tony.

"Abs, you running the prints from the John Doe?"

"Yes, sir. No hits so far." Her disappointment was obvious.

"Gone over the clothes Ziva found yet?"

"Oh, yeah." She brightened slightly. "Didn't find much." They moved towards the table where a t-shirt, a jacket, a pair of slacks, two shoes, boxers, and a baseball cap had been laid out. Almost all the items were black, save for the underwear, and just as nondescript as the man who had mostly likely been wearing them. Only the cap was distinctive. Abby held it up for Gibbs to see. "There's a hole in the bill. Measured it. 9 millimeters."

His reaction was practically nonexistent, but he started to stride out of the lab anyway. "_Wait_, Gibbs!" He stopped and turned. "I found other things, too. There, uhm, aren't any extra fibers on any of the clothes. Which makes me think someone must have gone over it with a sticky roller, like you use to get lint off your clothes. But I did find abnormally high levels of magnesium sulfate around the cuffs of the jacket."

"Common uses, Abs?"

"Well, Epsom salts. Aquariums. In medicine they use it as a laxative—" On the other side of the room, McGee made a face. "—or to treat severe asthma, among other things. This particular compound is medical, probably absorbed into the material as a gas. So asthma's our best bet." Their fearless leader made a dash for the exit once again. Abby stopped him with a glance. "_Gibbs_."

Some people can communicate a lot in a glance and a word. Abby stood among those people. "Are we going home tonight?" McGee looked over from his work.

"We'll see, Abs." And he was gone.

--

Leroy Jethro Gibbs had an eerie habit of arriving just as one of his people had discovered something. Today would be a day, irregular in most other aspects, where at least that routine would remain tried and true. He entered Autopsy just as Ducky was sewing up their body.

"Jethro! I've been expecting you."

"Got a COD, Duck?"

"In a rush, are we? Well, I suppose it is for the better. You never were the type to stand idle whilst your people were in danger."

"Marines never do."

"I would think not. Anyway, our friend here was most likely poisoned. There is no way to be sure until the toxicology report comes back, but Mr. Palmer is running it up to Abigail, and she does not dawdle. The substance was injected here." He identified a small hole on the victim's forearm. "No defensive wounds on the hands or any other part of the body, which caused me to search for and discover this." Gibbs repositioned himself so he might see the spot on the skull Ducky indicated. The hair had been shaved to reveal a large bruise. "Blunt force trauma."

"Someone whacked him on the head and then injected him?"

"Precisely. The weapon was round with some curious markings on the end. I sent photographs to Abigail to see if she might make some sense of it. The injury, however, would only have rendered him unconscious. It was the poison that did the true damage."

"What about the lungs, Duck?"

"What about them?"

"They healthy? Any signs of asthma?"

"Certainly not, Jethro. Prior to being clubbed over the head with something, this man was as healthy as a horse. A pity, for someone so fit to see such an early demise. It reminds me—" Gibbs started to leave. "Ah, Jethro, aren't you forgetting something?"

"What's that, Duck?"

"Time of death?"

"Already got it. Between two and three AM." Ducky looked startled for a moment, but then smiled.

"A good thing, Jethro, as I did not bring it up early because there is no way of knowing. The temperature in Autopsy is already well below that of the rest of the building, and with the cold spell we've been having…" Gibbs grinned, and left. Dr. Mallard grimaced and muttered to the John Doe, "I really must stop trying to remind him of things."

--

Tony, Ziva, and McGee sat at their desks. It was strangely quiet—dark had fallen outside, and the rest of the agency had presumably gone home to their loving families, warm meals, and cushy beds. Tony stared into space, brows knit together. He had a lot to ponder. Ziva cleaned one of her knives, though she had long since been able to catch her reflection in the polished metal. Her goal was not to think, but to avoid just that. McGee typed absently at his computer, the abnormally slow tapping noises a sole source of sound in the squad room. His keystrokes were sluggish; he kept making typos. For some reason, his fingers refused to work this evening.

_Maybe it's the dread_, he thought.

"Quit working," murmured Tony. "You're driving me nuts."

"It helps me keep calm."

"Yeah, well," the senior agent raised his voice. "I think I've got a bit more to worry about right now, McGee." The noise stopped.

They heard the elevator open, and Gibbs stepped out, followed by Abby, Ducky, and Palmer.

"Boss, I found the card," Tony told him as the group reached the bull pen. "In the drawer, where Ziva said it would be. Bagged it." He gestured to an evidence bag on his desk.

"McGee?" Gibbs moved on.

"Search turned up over a hundred matches, boss. We need something more specific."

"Ziva."

"I processed the entrance. The only thing out of the ordinary I found was a syringe."

"DiNozzo, Ziva, I want the card and the syringe to Abby first thing tomorrow morning." Gibbs paused. "No one goes home alone tonight. _No one._ Not if you have a gun, not if you have a knife. Whoever this bastard is, he's already gotten by our usual security once, so we need to step it up. I'll take Ducky, DiNozzo has Palmer. McGee—"

"Gibbs!" Abby cried. "If you assign McGee to me, I will _explode_. Do you remember what happened the last time you did that?"

"You failed to listen to his orders and ended up nearly getting yourself killed?" She looked as if he had just slapped her in the face. McGee appeared pleased with this summary of the events. "If it makes you feel any better, Abs, Ziva's with you too."

"I am perfectly capable of defending myself—" started Ziva angrily.

"So use those abilities to protect Abby and McGee." The officer took a moment to think this over, and then reseated herself quietly.

Tony piped up, "Boss, if we stay together, do we have to go home?"

"Nope. Just get some rest." Gibbs and Duck started out. McGee was shutting down his computer.

Tony's spirits seemed lifted by this information. "Palmer!" He threw an arm around the young man's shoulder as they began to walk towards the elevator. "Have you ever been to Hooters?"


	4. Chapter 4

"If Tony were here, he would say…" Ziva took a sip of her wine, reflecting.

"McChef would be the obvious choice," Abby speculated, leaning against the counter. "But McHousewife is a definite possibility."

McGee was currently rushing about his kitchen—which barely even constituted a kitchen in the first place—chanting ingredients to himself. He had three pots on three burners, the fridge hung open, and a salad lay unfinished across a portion of countertop. His sleeves were rolled up, his hair was falling into his face, and he kept throwing cabinets open. He did not entertain—let alone cook—often, if ever.

"Basil, tomatoes, olive oil—olive oil? Olive oil!" He continued to search frantically.

"You know," Ziva mused. "We could have just gotten a pizza."

"He's too stubborn for that."

Mr. Stubborn turned to them, his face a picture of desperation. "There's no olive oil."

"Is it really that important?" inquired Abby, tossing Jethro (who sat attentively, observing his master in the cooking process, with the obvious hope that some of that meal might make its way into his stomach) a small piece of cheese.

"Yes! And don't give him table scraps." He groaned. "I have to go get some."

Ziva stood, "I will go."

"No." was McGee's instant reaction. "If Gibbs finds out I let you leave, he'll kill me."

"Why is it so much better for _you_ to go than me?" This inquiry left the Probie wordless, Ziva's death glare boring into him. There was no politically correct response—McGee liked politically correct.

"Well, um, just stay here." He grabbed his jacket off a hook by the door, and checked for his keys in a pocket. "I'll be back in five minutes. Don't let the pasta boil over." He shut the door behind him.

Ziva harrumphed and settled back on to her stool. Her nerves were apparent—she twitched and fidgeted, the prospect of sitting still unfathomable.

"This apartment makes me feel…" she could not think of the word.

"Comfortable? Relaxed?" suggested Abby in a murmur.

"Claustrophobic." There were a few minutes of silence. Abby slipped from her seat to the floor beside the German Sheppard, stroking him numbly. "Where is the bathroom?"

"Through that door, make a sharp right and keep going. You have to hold down the handle for three seconds when you flush." Ziva smiled.

"You are here often, Abby?"

"I come to see Jethro."

"Ah, yes." The Israeli covered up the disbelief in her voice. Despite her reputation as an emotionless, inhuman killer, she knew that some things were better left unsaid, and some things do not need to be said at all. She slipped through the bedroom, and into the bathroom. She had barely opened the door when a noise pierced the quiet—a gunshot, glass shattering. Ziva knew the deafening sound well. Jethro started to bark frantically.

She flew out of the bath and into the main room, faster than she had moved in a long time. Abby was ducked down behind the workbench; she had dragged the dog with her. Ziva fell to the floor and began to crawl across the room. Outside, tires screeched.

"He shot through the window," Abby whispered, attempting to calm Jethro by showering him with hugs.

"I know. I am calling McGee now." She pulled her phone from a pocket. "And then Gibbs." Finally, the Sheppard had ceased to bark. Now, he licked Abby furiously. Before she could dial, they heard the handle on the front door turn. Ziva stood, whipped out her sidearm and pointed it at the entrance, tense.

The door didn't open to reveal a killer of any kind. No, it was McGee. But there was something wrong. His eyes were glossed over, his face was pale. He stared at them blankly for a moment before Ziva registered the problem—he clung to his upper arm on the right side. The blood flowed over his hand, soaking his jacket and dripping on to the floor. Abby let out a cry that turned into a whimper. She was paralyzed. Her mouth hung open.

Ziva rushed to him, attempting to support the heavier agent. "Abby! We must apply pressure. Go get a towel from the bathroom." She didn't move. Frustrated, Ziva ripped off her coat, allowing McGee to collapse against the wall, and pressed the clothing to his wound. At the same time, she dialed.

_911, what is your emergency?_

"I need an ambulance at 400 N Moore Street, apartment three. A man has been shot."

--

Tony DiNozzo was royally pissed. He didn't get this way often. He liked to think of himself as a light-hearted, carefree sort of guy. But now, it seemed reasonable. _No one_ shot his Probie. _No one_ broke into their building and left them a message in blood. And most of all, _no one_ came after his people, his team—his family—and lived to tell the tale.

And yet, there he'd been enjoying some chicken breast and admiring some waitress breast, with a grinning Palmer across from him in their cushy booth, and his phone had rung.

_McGee, shot, Bethesda, now._

That was all Gibbs had said. But he didn't need much more.

They were out of the restaurant in a nanosecond. Tony, who'd once been upset that Abby had stolen his dollar, left a fifty dollar bill on the table and told their server to keep the change.

Now, he stood at the foot of McGee's hospital bed. Probie sat up, examining the wide assortment of cards in front of him.

"Sarah and my parents came and went," he told his partner. "You missed the party." Abby was passed out in a chair by the bed.

"I see that."

"Heard you almost strangled the nurse when she wouldn't let you in."

"Said I wasn't family. I told her that was crap." McGee laughed. Tony did not. "You scared me shitless, kid."

"It's not bad. The bullet didn't hit the bone, and it passed right through. I'll be at work tomorrow."

"What happened out there?"

"I already gave Gibbs my statement."

"Give it again." Tim pursed his lips, glancing at the sleeping Abby.

"I went out to get something from the store. I was walking along the street, and I heard a shot, so I went for my weapon. I'm pretty sure it came from—it was a dark blue station wagon, I think. Really beat up. Parked across from my place. There was a guy in there. He was wearing a cap so I couldn't see his face…might've been the one from the security tape, though. I saw he had a handgun, and he fired at me again. Couldn't have been more than twenty feet away. I didn't even realize I'd been hit. I fired back. I must have missed. I heard another gunshot, but this one wasn't the same guy, definitely. I saw the window shatter in my apartment, and the station wagon sped off…so I rushed to get back to Abby and Ziva. I was going up the stairs when I saw the blood trail and—" He was shaking. He had stopped for a breath. "It happened so fast. One minute I'm worrying about olive oil and the next I'm in an ambulance."

"I know, kid." Abby stirred, then sat up.

"Tony!" she cried, sprinting across the room to throw her arms around him in a massive hug.

"Hey Abs." He paused. "I'll leave you two alone." Probie opened his mouth to protest, but he was silenced by a peculiar look from his partner. Tony left, crossing the hall to where Ziva sat, looking in to the room. There was a window, so they could observe Abby and her bedridden friend. Ziva handed DiNozzo a cup.

"Coffee."

"I don't drink it."

"Today, you do." He sat next to her. The pair watched as McGee and Sciuto conversed. He smiled, but Abs looked positively stony. "They are silly," muttered Ziva.

"Why do you say that?"

"I do not know…it seems as if it were so obvious that they—" She could not explain.

"Sometimes people can have chemistry, but things get in the way. They tried it, it didn't work. Before your time."

"Do you know why?"

"Rule number twelve?"

"Hmph. I am not sure I understand."

"Never date a—"

"Not that. The chemistry thing. It seems to me that if two people like each other and are attracted to one another, than it should not be such a problem." Abby placed a hand on McGee's arm. He no longer looked so cheery.

"Ever been in love, Ziva?" She was silent for a second.

"Maybe."

Tony smiled. "Roy."

"Yes."

"You of all people should know, it's never that simple."

"But, neither of them is going to die! I just—" She glared into the room. "I have a growing desire to knock their heads together." Tony laughed.

"Yeah," He took a sip of his coffee. "I know that feeling."


	5. Chapter 5

I hope everyone had a wonderful Turkey Day! I'm vegetarian 363 days of the year. The two days I'm not are Thanksgiving and the day after (my mother makes the best turkey stew…)

Anyway, I hope I surprised some of you with the last chapter! The reviews give that impression. Your support has really made me feel great and kept me going. I would've had four up on Wednesday, but there was an NCIS marathon on USA, heh. 12 hours of the Giblets. I was in heaven.

I'm still looking for a way to work more Tiva into the storyline. Hopefully their conversation at the hospital took the edge off of your appetites, as I meant it to be ironic that everything they said could also be applied to their relationship. Obviously McAbby is there with the fallout from Timmy getting shot, and I never really meant there to be a TON of Jibbs, but Tiva…well, I'll make it work.

--

"You do not even have a suspect, Agent Gibbs." The Director sat poised at her desk, staring upwards at one of her best men.

"I know, Jen."

"I really should give someone else this case."

"But you won't."

She sighed. "I visited Agent McGee at the hospital yesterday evening. He seems to be recovering."

"That he is."

She leaned forward. "Jethro, you need to catch this one. If the press finds out that not only are our agents being targeted, but that we have so far failed to ascertain the identity of the body in Autopsy—"

"It might help if I was out looking for whoever did this instead of in here, chatting with you."

"I'm more worried about your team than you, Jethro. They've been through a lot. Whether they can get back on their feet again is my main concern."

"They will."

"Abby can barely speak, DiNozzo bites off the head of anyone who comes near him—even David seems rattled. She told me that if her clothing is never coated in the blood of someone close again, it will be too soon."

"They'll manage, Jen. Trust me."

"I've never stopped trusting you, Jethro." He left the office, the tiniest hint of a smirk on his face.

--

No music. Maybe Jenny was right. Maybe they were finally worn down to the point where they simply _couldn't_, not anymore. McGee was back today, against the advice of his doctor, though he'd been banned from field work. His arm was in a sling, and as he had said upon arriving, that was "good enough."

"Abs?" Gibbs peered down at his forensic scientist and surrogate daughter, who had fallen asleep in front of her computer.

She sat up abruptly, shouting "I know who our victim is!" Even the silver haired fox had to take a step back. Groggily, she continued. "Finally found him in the Interpol database. Name's Martin Ehrlichmann—German. He's a career felon with links to a whole smorgasbord of terrorist groups. Next, um, toxicology identified the poison that killed him as Dichloro-Diphenyl-Trichloroethane. Also known as DDT."

"A pesticide?"

"That's the most common use. It's actually only moderately hazardous, but this guy had twelve milliliters of it injected into his blood stream. He never stood a chance. I checked it with the substance in the syringe Ziva found, and they match. I couldn't find any prints on it, however, or on Tony's card. Someone wiped them both down. Alright, lastly…I'm still working on figuring out what was used to hit the German on the head. But I'll figure it out."

"I know you will, Abs." She smiled half-heartedly. "You okay?"

"No." Gibbs stared at her. He was waiting for an explanation. "It's just that…when I heard the gunshot I just hid. I thought it was over. And then there was McGee at the door bleeding everywhere, and Ziva starts yelling at me to help her but I just—I like, couldn't move. He could have died and I just stood there. I mean, I guess I never really thought of him an agent or anything, not like you or Tony or Ziva. Not that I would be any less freaked out if one of you guys got shot, but, you know, I feel like he spends more time here with me than he does out in the field."

"You talk to him about it?"

"Yeah. I think I may have screwed things up, Gibbs." He hugged her for a moment, then crossed the room, slipped through the sliding door, and hit play on her stereo. Crunching guitar chords and the sound of someone sing-screaming permeated the quiet.

"Find who did this, Abs!" Gibbs yelled over the music as he made his exit. Abby watched him go, then leaned on her desk, head in hands.

--

"Alright!" declared DiNozzo, as he paced about the squad room. "What do we know?"

"Not much," grumbled McGee.

"We know," Ziva rose from her chair. "That someone is targeting us. They got into the building, most likely killed our John Doe here, and made it back out again."

"I'll go back through the videos, see if I can catch him leaving," offered McGee.

"Cut your coffee with pain meds this morning, Probie?" The young man nodded.

"How does one cut their coffee?" inquired Ziva.

Tony shook his head. "We know that there are—were—two shooters."

"That we do, DiNozzo." Gibbs entered in his usual commanding style. "You and David, grab your gear. McGee, vic's name is Martin Ehrlichmann. I want a full background when we get back."

"On it."

"Where we going, boss?" asked Tony.

"To figure out what happened."

--

"Ziva, you be the Probie. I'll be the illusive man-in-the-car."

"_DiNozzo_."

"Sorry, boss. Whatever you want to do is fine."

"What'd you find in the apartment?" Gibbs took a sip of his coffee.

"Just one bullet. Thirty caliber." Ziva handed him the evidence jar.

"And on the street?"

"Two casings, two bullets. Including one that looks like it went through McGee's arm."

Gibbs glanced upwards, examining the window of the apartment—currently cover in a layer of black plastic—and then moving his sights directly across the street, to the roof of a small building. Window and roof appeared to be at just about the same level. He crossed the street, followed by Tony and Ziva, and entered the building, which appeared to hold a few office suites. They flashed their badges and the receptionist guided them towards the stairwell. Minutes later, they were standing on the roof.

"I don't think he policed his brass, boss."

They had found another body—the only difference being that this one lay crumpled over a sniper rifle that happened to be pointed directly at the window of one of their very own special agents.


	6. Chapter 6

The end of this one feels very shaky. I wasn't sure how to fix it, so I decided just to make the next one awesome. That's all.

--

Tony was on sketch and shoot, Ziva bag and tag. It was not a lot of work, but it seemed to go slower with only two people. Gibbs' phone rang.

"Yeah, McGee?"

"I got an address on Ehrlichmann."

"Good. We'll go when we finish here. DiNozzo!" The agent scrambled towards his boss. "Write what I say." Gibbs recited the address as told to him by McGee. "I'm gonna send you a picture. We found a second body. Get it to Abby for facial recognition."

"Got it." Gibbs shoved his phone at Tony.

"Use it to take a picture of the sniper then send it to McGee."

"You know, boss, I could just teach you how to do it yourself one of these days—" He received a firm slap on the back of the head. "Taking and sending, boss."

Gibbs strode to stand over the body, as Ducky removed the liver probe.

"Got a time, Duck?"

"Thirty hours ago. Maybe more."

"Matches the time of the shot into McGee's apartment."

"That it does, Jethro. As for cause, I can see no other obvious injuries, though I would speculate it was the single gunshot to the back of the head. I'll know for sure once we get him back to Autopsy. Mr. Palmer, if you would fetch the gurney."

"Yes, doctor."

"Ziva!" She was placing evidence baggies in a box when Gibbs approached. "Find anything?"

"A casing. Most likely belongs to the bullet we found in McGee's wall."

"That's it?"

"I am afraid so. Whoever did this was meticulous." He took a long sip of his coffee.

"DiNozzo!"

"Yes boss!"

"Get the evidence back to Abby." He pulled the keys to the sedan from his pocket and tossed them to Ziva. "You're driving."

--

Timothy McGee could not sit still. He was at his desk, fully unable to concentrate. His arm was on fire, a sensation which he hated. In front of him sat a bottle of pain medication, huge pills that were hard to look at and harder to swallow. He grabbed the bottle, stood, and walked across the room to slam it down on Gibbs' unoccupied desk. He returned to his seat and attempted to begin productivity again.

He had barely typed two sentences when he spotted the prescription. It sat there, taunting him. He was only supposed to have two every four hours—but they didn't _work_. Hardly even took the edge off. He wanted to be lying in a hospital bed, pumped full of morphine, not here. It wasn't like always. DiNozzo had not said anything demeaning this morning, Gibbs had called him "Tim", and he could not bring himself to go see Abby. McGee knew he shouldn't have come back today.

He stood again, snatched up the bottle, and hurled it across the room. It hit the very attractive Agent Bell on the back of the head. Realizing the stupidity of what he'd just done, he ducked down to avoid detection when she inevitably turned around. Of course, his name was on the label, so she would figure it out eventually, but he preferred not to be caught in the act.

"Any reason you're hugging the floor, McCarpet?"

The Probie stood, catching his balance. Bell was staring at them, bottle in hand. Tony waved. McGee pointed to Tony discreetly. Bell glared at DiNozzo. He had a reputation.

"Hmph, weird. I'm pretty sure I didn't do anything to piss off Bell today."

"Go figure."

"Ah, well, I've got a box of stuff for Abby." He tried to hand it off to McGee, who did not take it.

"Then go give it to her." Tony raised an eyebrow, but changed the subject.

"Do anything productive while I was gone, Probes?"

"Background on Martin. Charged a bunch of times for various felonies but never convicted. Interpol says he's started selling information to terrorists. Could explain why he was trying to break in."

"He wanted information?"

"There are countless computers in this place with valuable intell on them. He could have been looking for anything from blueprints to a list of undercover agents."

"Decent theory. Alright," he started off. "I gotta get this stuff to Abs."

McGee settled back into his chair, suddenly wishing that Bell didn't have his meds.

The elevator opened. Gibbs and Ziva entered. Neither looked happy. He practically threw his sidearm into a drawer.

"Boss? Weren't you guys going to Ehrlichmann's?"

"We did. All we found was a mattress and this—" He gestured to the computer Ziva had just dumped on her desk. "Go through it. Get Abby to help you." McGee started to protest. "_Just do it._" Disgruntled, he took the box and started downstairs, passing Tony on his way out.

"Back so soon, boss?"

"Yes, DiNozzo."

"I just got an e-letter from Abby." No one bothered to correct Ziva. "She has identified our sniper. His name is Benjamin Heath, and he is also a career felon."

"Seeing a pattern here, boss?"

"Two criminals caught in the act, both dead."

"Someone is targeting the bad guys."


	7. Chapter 7

The ending of this one may feel a little anti-climatic, but we're starting to get to the heart of the case, and pretty soon we'll have Gibbs in interrogation (YAY). I personally looooved writing the banter between Tony and Ziva here, though I have no idea how I am going to work in their relationship more. I may just have to come clean and say that there will be more McAbby in this fic than Tiva. If it had been Tony who'd gotten shot it would've been the other way around, but I have an irrepressible hate-love for McGee that makes me want to endanger him out of adoration, so you will simply have to deal. Besides! This isn't supposed to be a romance fic.

Keep reviewing! I love to hear your opinions 3

--

"I do not understand." Ziva glared at her partner and boss. "If he is killing these bad guys, why did he leave us the message?"

"Maybe!" DiNozzo clapped his hands together. "He wasn't trying to warn us about _him_, he was trying to warn us about people like Ehrlichmann and Heath."

"He is some sort of anti-hero?"

"Yeah, like Dexter. You know, the serial killer who preys on other serial killers."

"That's good." It was high praise from Gibbs. Tony beamed. "Now all we need is a name. Go through the list of people who might have had access to your card. Start with the one that McGee compiled. See if anyone pops out at you. Ziva, background on Heath. I want to know everything." They watched him leave. When he was out of earshot, Tony wandered towards Ziva.

"There's something funny going on downstairs." She looked shocked.

"You have an erection?"

"_No_, Ziva, I meant with Abby and McGee. I gave him something to bring to her and he wouldn't go."

"Oh, yes. You are not aware?"

"Well obviously not."

"They are not speaking."

"And you know this how?"

"Gibbs told me. In the car. He asked me to—talk to him. To McGee."

"You? Why you? Everyone knows the Probie and I—"

"I do not know why he asked me, Tony. I have not an inking."

"Inkling."

"What is that?" Tony ignored her question.

"You gonna do it?"

"No—yes—maybe."

"Those _are_ the three possible answers."

"I am not good with the heart-to-heart, Tony." To her surprise, he did not make a crack. "Gibbs says, talk to him, but what do I say?"

"Tell him what you told me the other day in the hospital. About how simple it should be."

"That is it?"

"Yeah," he returned to his desk. "That's it." Ziva twitched.

"Let me practice on you."

"What?"

"Pretend to be McGee." Tonny grinned. He slicked his hair off to the side, widened his eyes, and pouted. Ziva laughed.

"You have been saving this for a rainy day, no?"

"Talk to me."

"McGee, there is something I must speak with you about."

McTony replied, "_What's that?_"

"It is Abby. She has been acting strange lately. Has something happened?"

McTony played clueless, "_Of course not!_" Ziva glared at him. "_Uh, well, yuh see, what happened was—"_ Tony slipped out of character. "Wait, what did happen?"

"Abby was feeling guilty about not trying to help him when he got shot, and she told him they could never be together because he is an agent and she cannot deal with the fear, and he said he had never thought that they would be together and she said sorry but that is not how you have been acting for the past five years and he said what do you mean by that and she said it does not matter now as we will never be involved and he said well wait a minute who said I did not want—"

"Okay, okay, I get the general idea."

"Basic lover's spit."

"Spat, and did Gibbs tell you that too?"

"No, he told me very little. I simply estimated the rest by recalling their body language when we were watching them in the hospital."

"So this may not have happened?"

"No," Ziva assured him. "It did."

"Right, well, pretend I just said all of that."

"Okay," She poised herself. "I believe you must speak to Abby and tell her your true feelings. If she feels the same you will find a way to get by—if not, you will do the same. You have much to lose but more to gain."

McTony sat, staring at her. His captivation was obvious.

"What?" She asked. "We are supposed to be roleplaying, Tony."

"Yeah, that was still my McGee impression."

Ziva leaned back into her chair.

"Just go for it, David. What've you got to lose?"

"I do not know."

"_Exactly_."

--

"It was most definitely the gunshot to the head that did him in, Jethro. He was shot at close range, from behind, with a small caliber weapon—most likely a handgun. I have sent the bullet to Abigail for further analysis, but I can tell you that appearances would suggest it came from the same weapon used to harm our Timothy. As for the time," Ducky continued. "I can now safely say that the death took place approximately thirty-two hours ago. Decomposition was in the very early stages due to the weather, which made my task considerably easier."

"That all, Duck?"

"I'm afraid so, Jethro. You are dealing with a thorough killer here; someone who does not like to make mistakes."

"A professional."

"No, not quite. The opposite, really. He is obviously experienced, but yet, he is preying upon others who are highly experienced…which leads me to believe he is one who has seen many crimes and therefore knows how to hide his tracks, but is out to make the perpetrators pay for their wrong doings. For example, a law enforcement officer—"

"Like an NCIS agent?"

"Well, yes, Jethro. It would fit the profile. But there is also the message left. It displays a deep concern for the welfare of the agents, and would suggest that this man is not, in fact, an agent."

"So not one of us?"

"I am not entirely sure. I can simply explain his motives and that he is not one of your agents—the rest is for you to figure out."

"Good work, Duck. Let me know if you find anything new." Gibbs was gone.


	8. Chapter 8

I dreamed about NCIS a couple of nights ago. They were all doing an SNL-style musical parody of themselves. It was highly entertaining.

By the way, as people seemed to like Tony doing a McGee impression, I think someone needs to write to the writers (repetitive alliteration?) and try to get a similar thing into the show. I can completely see Michael Weatherly doing it and Sean Murray's uber pissed face.

Sorry about the wait. I knew I couldn't keep that momentum up! Hopefully this is not _too_ short, nor too sappy (there are moments) for everyone's tastes. Enjoy!

--

McGee was making a list of nasty things that he would never call Ziva to her face. Who gives a man who's just been shot a computer to carry? Insanity. Torture. He was holding it up with his one good arm, using the knee for occasional support. This elevator ride had never seemed longer. He wasn't entirely unfit, but at the same time, the box was heavy and the extended use of his healthy arm was incredibly painful. He was not sure which hurt more right now, the one with a hole in it or the one that was slowly going numb.

He stumbled, ever awkward, down the hall towards Abby's lab. He honestly felt like pistol whipping someone just about now. First he's shot, then Ziva dumps a forty-pound hardrive in his arms and finally Gibbs forces him to go see Abby. He would bet that the boss-man knew they were fighting, too—she couldn't keep a secret from him, not for the life of her. No doubt he was being blamed for the conflict. Abby had always been Gibbs' favorite.

He kept his eyes glued to the ground upon entering. Abby noticed the arrival instantly and stopped what she was doing to stare blankly at him. He put down the box and began linking it up to a monitor.

"What you want?" she demanded tersely.

"Nothing. Gibbs sent me down to go through Ehrlichmann's computer."

"Oh." She turned back to Major Mass Spec, brow furrowed. Though she rarely regretted telling Gibbs anything, she did not appreciate his attempts at matchmaking or even forced reconciliation.

"Don't worry, I'll stay over here if you stay over there. Deal?"

"Deal."

Ziva entered the lab not long after this exchange. She paused just inside the door, glancing at the unusual arrangement.

"Hey, Ziva," Abby greeted her with a sigh.

"I need to speak to McGee. About the case. Outside. In the hall." Ziva trailed on.

"If it's about the case, you can say it in here." The goth narrowed her eyes at the other woman.

"No," she assured Abby without further explanation.

"Seems to me, Zee-_vah_, that you've got things on your mind other than this case."

"What are you talking about?" Abby _hmph_ed and went back to the Mass Spec without answering.

McGee rolled his eyes, stood, and trudged into the hall. Ziva followed close behind. When she could be sure they would not hear her footsteps, their forensic scientist scooted towards the entrance of the lab. She fully intended to eavesdrop, and mentally Gibbs-slapped both agents for not closing the door. Of course, it was to her advantage, so she couldn't be terribly disappointed. It did not occur to her that Ziva would never forget such an obvious detail.

"McGee," the Israeli spoke, her voice lowered purely for convincing effect. "This is very important, and I want you to listen closely."

"What's up, Ziva?"

"You must tell Abby that you would like to…" She did not know the phrase.

"Slap her?"

"No. How you feel about her."

"You want me to tell her that I think she's a bitch?"

"McGee!"

"Really, Ziva, did you see how she was just now? Acting like we're coming out here to have sex or something—" She was taken aback.

"That is _not_ why I brought you out here! I have told you, I am not attracted to blondes."

"Not what I meant."

"Yes, well. I believe that there is something—deeper beneath your current emotions and that you must…act upon them, or you with regret it for the rest of your life."

"Really? _You're_ giving _me_ the true feelings talk?" Ziva blinked rapidly at him. "Oh, come on. You aren't suggesting that you and Tony—"

"This is not about Tony and I," she snapped, though the comment had left a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach. "It is about you and Abby. If you cannot be together you must at least work together, as neither of you will leave your jobs over this conflict, and this means that a conversation is required." McGee frowned and glanced downward. "Speak to her, now. Tony is making sure that Gibbs does not interrupt."

--

"Heeey Boss!" Tony caught his superior coming out of Autopsy, just about to board the elevator. "Got something for ya."

"Yeah?"

"There was a security camera on the street when both shootings took place. Turns out Abby and McGee aren't the only ones who can make photo magic." He pulled an enlarged photograph out of a file he was holding. It showed the station wagon, and included a very legible close-up of the license plate. "Alpha Echo Tango One Five Eight Six."

"You run it?"

"Of course, boss! Car's registered to a Harry Yule. Reported it stolen two days ago. But here's the best part—he works downstairs as a clerk in evidence lockup."

"Bring him in." Gibbs started to go.

"Already did. Interrogation." He shoved a file at his boss, who snatched it and strode into the elevator. Tony grinned to himself, before his little bit of self-admiration was interrupted by a very Gibbs-like bark. "_DiNozzo_! You coming?"

"Yes, boss, sir, Gibbs."


	9. Chapter 9

I really like this chapter. I don't know why. Just do. The next chapter will probably be up by Sunday, if not then Monday.

In case anyone is curious, CBS has just added NCIS t-shirts to their online store! There are some really good ones—I've already got two on my Christmas list.

--

Tony kicked the vending machine. Once, twice, three times. He slammed his quarters into it, only to watch them slide out through the coin return. Again. He groaned. Nothing was well in the Land of DiNozzo.

"Do you need help?" Ziva sounded smug as ever, and he jumped at her sudden appearance in the doorway of the breakroom.

"No thanks, I've embarrassed myself enough today without accepting help from you."

"You dislike the fact that the machine prefers me to you."

"It's a _machine_, Ziva. It doesn't have preferences." She smirked, and took a seat at one of the tables.

"Tony," she began. It took her a moment to find the words to describe her question, but not for her lack of knowledge in English. She did not aim for political correctness, but she did not want to give DiNozzo the wrong idea. A hard fought battle indeed. "Why does everyone seem to think we are sleeping together?"

Tony, who had been preparing for a fourth try at kicking the vending machine, attempted to turn quickly and assault the machine in the same movement, effectively slamming his face into the plastic window. He smothered the moan and turned—safely, this time—to face her, rubbing his nose gingerly.

"What?"

"McGee…said something."

"Bad things always happen when McChatty opens his mouth," muttered Tony, almost as an aside.

"It made me wonder what we do to, uh…_inflict_ such a reputation upon ourselves."

"It's probably because no one believes you could resist the temptation, having such a sexy man always around."

"Who, Gibbs?" Tony winced. Ziva giggled—as well as someone like Ziva could. "Perhaps it was the undercover mission a year or so back? They have mistaken us for our covers."

"Yeah. We were pretty convincing." They were pleasant memories.

"Perhaps we must remind people that it was merely a cover, and it meant nothing."

"Yeah, nothing."

Silence fell. They had run out of things to say that remained within both agent's comfort zones. A minute passed of awkward quiet before Tony got a call. He answered speedily, murmured a few words, and snapped the phone shut.

"What is it?" queried Ziva.

"Gibbs is about to interrogate Yule. Let's go." Tony strode out.

Ziva declared, in a lowered, mock-DiNozzo voice, "On your six!" And she exited in his wake.

--

Harry Yule was short, skinny, and balding. He had small spectacles that sat on the end of his nose and light blonde, almost white, hair. He sat up straight at the table, drumming his fingers on the surface and staring blankly at a spot on the wall across from him.

"Looks a bit like Juror Two," Tony commented to Ziva, as they slipped in through the Observation door. Gibbs entered Interrogation.

"Who?"

"It's a movie. Twelve Angry Men."

"Ah, yes. I know the one. Does not seem like your usual flare."

"Fair. And it's Henry Fonda. Grapes of Wrath, The Ox-Bow Incident…"

"Very good, Tony. I had not thought you watched films without scantily dressed women."

"…Sex and the Single Girl."

Ziva cringed. "I should have known."

Gibbs took a seat in that quiet, intense manner that he had become famous for. Such a demeanor could be applied to virtually everything he did, from sipping coffee to sitting down. It was, to put it simply, his mojo. Though many things had been turned upside down in the past few days, Gibbs was still Gibbs, and he still had the Gibbs air about him.

"Harry Yule."

"I prefer Harold."

"It's a good thing I don't care, then." Yule grimaced. He was not the sort of man accustomed to bluntness.

"Might I ask why am I here, Agent Gibbs?"

"Your car. You reported it stolen."

"Yes, but I highly doubt that NCIS would be investigating a stolen car, especially as I am not enlisted."

"Not about the robbery. About the shooting."

"What shooting?"

Gibbs cleared his throat. "You know Agent McGee, _Harry_?"

"We are acquaintances."

"A couple of nights ago, someone shot him from the window of your station wagon." The look upon Yule's face pinpointed a half-registered confusion and a good deal of surprise. Gibbs' voice began to crescendo. "The evidence says it's someone in this building, _Harry_." His tone continued to grow in volume. "And I've got a theory—your car wasn't really stolen, was it, _Harry_? So what's the matter? You got a problem with one of my people, _Harry_? You got a problem with _me_?" The speech concluded with a roar.

Yule's previously flustered state had turned to a piercing glare. Nothing pierced Gibbs, however.

"Agent Gibbs, I'm insulted that you think I am stupid enough to shoot an agent in my own vehicle, and cocky enough to believe I'd get away with it." He took a deep breath, sucking air like Abby towards the end of a Caf-Pow. "My car was stolen from the employee lot. I've always suspected it was a co-worker."

A not-entirely-cooled-off Gibbs whipped a photograph out from the file folder before him. It was the still from the security footage. He pointed to the mystery man. "This isn't you?"

"No."

"Any idea who stole the car?"

"Yes."


	10. Chapter 10

Alright, well, I was planning on revealing the killer in the next couple of chapters, but then I had an idea of how to draw it out longer, so I may be able to get out another three or even four chapters. Maybe more. I'm not sure. Right now I'm enjoying this too much for it to end! By the way, I almost didn't write the McAbby scene at the beginning of this, but I knew I'd have to give you all something more than Ziva and Tony's suspicions eventually, so I hope this does quench that thirst.

--

Among other things, McGee felt childish. Essentially, he had just had one of his teammates tell him to grow up. Get over it. Move on.

He knew she was right. He was not happy that she was right—I mean, who wants romantic advice from _Ziva_?—but he knew it nonetheless. He was going to go back into the lab now and they were going to talk it out. Maybe it would never be all hugs and smiles and computer forensics as it had once been, but they could both survive on less. After Ziva was gone, he started to reenter, only to have his path blocked by Abby.

Tim had seen Abby angry, scared, and exuberant. He'd watched her fear for her life and mourn someone else's. She had been shot at, kidnapped, and nearly poisoned. But through all of this, the look on her face while she stood in that doorway was not one he could remember, nor one he would soon forget. Hurt. Like he'd just stabbed her in the metaphorical heart. The tears were welling up and she shook slightly.

"Abs—" Before he could utter another word, she turned on her heel and stormed into her office, punching a few buttons on the keypad to lock the sliding door behind her. He stared at her haplessly from the other side of the room. That brain, which was similar in workings to some of the most powerful computers in the world, was taking a surprisingly lengthy amount of time to register this development. She'd seated herself with her back to him, hugging Bert (even his sound effects couldn't lighten the mood.) He crossed the room and pressed his face against the glass.

"Abby?" No answer. She didn't even flinch. "Abby, we need to talk about this."

"Go away." She sniffled.

"Can't stay mad forever."

Abby stood abruptly, and, abandoning Bert on her desk, marched to the door, opened it via the keypad, marched on through and threw her arms around McGee in a bear hug like no other. He realized that breathing and unbroken ribs could wait; he hugged back.

"Nothing to say," she mumbled into his shirt.

"Abs, I'm sorry—"

"Sign of weakness," came another barely intelligible phrase. Her grip relaxed. "You can let go now, if you want."

"I'm alright if you're alright."

"I'm alright."

--

"He's in interrogation, boss."

"Good." Gibbs leaned back in his chair and took a sip of coffee.

"Gonna let him stew for a while, boss?" There was no answer to this question. Instead, Gibbs eyed the empty desk in one of the corners.

"McGee still working the computer?"

"Think so."

"It's been two hours. He should have something by now." Their leader stood and started towards the elevator. Ziva, sensing that this could end badly, called after him.

"I have found something!" He stopped, and moved slowly to face her.

"And what's that, Officer David?"

The displeasure in his voice was apparent; his gut was telling him that something might be going on downstairs that did not entirely pertain to the solving of the case. Seeing as most of their evidence rested on Abby's forensics, the shaky suspicions of Harold Yule, and whatever McGee might find on that computer, this did not make Gibbs a very happy person.

Ziva hit a few buttons on her keyboard, and a document appeared on the plasma. Tony laughed.

"That's helpful."

"Think he's stewed enough, DiNozzo?"

--

"This your address, Felix?"

Felix the mailboy glanced at the paper in front of him. He was no taller than five ten, skinny, blonde hair.

"Yes, sir."

"A farm?"

"Been in my family for generations, sir."

"Ever use DDT?"

"We did, but it was outlawed in the '70s. Now we're all organic."

Gibbs paused.

"Think you might have any of it still lying around?"

"Doubt it, sir."

"Better hope you're right, Felix, because I've got two agents with a warrant searching your property as we speak."

Felix frowned. He looked puzzled.

"I don't understand, sir. What have I done wrong?"

"Harry Yule," Gibbs said quietly, placing the paper with the address back in his folder. "Seems to think you stole his car."

"No offense, sir, but Mr. Yule has disliked me since my first day here. I accidentally spilt coffee on his tie and…" He trailed off, leaving the rest to imagination.

"Another thing you better hope checks out, Felix, because that car was used in a shooting a few days ago." The boy's eyes widened.

"You don't mean Agent McGee, sir?" There was no answer. "I swear, Agent Gibbs, I'd never do anything to hurt your team. Harry Yule's just paranoid is all. You guys are like heroes to me!"

--

This time it was Ziva in Observation when Tony entered. He looked excited.

"Turns out Felix Greene failed the FLETC entrance exam three times. You'll never guess what part." He didn't give her time to answer. "The psych eval."

Ziva blinked. "So, our theory is that this…_child_ lured Ehrlichmann into the building, killed him, left us that message, shot at McGee from Harold Yule's car, sped away, came back, shot the sniper who he had also lured to the spot, and then got away without leaving a trace?"

Tony's excitement faded. "Sounds a little far-fetched, doesn't it?"

--

"Abby, I can't work like this."

"Sure you can. You're doing it right now." She had not let go of him since they had…made up. Now, she stood behind him with her arms around his neck, as she took care not to brush his injury. Nevertheless, she was in his way. Abby had made an executive decision: her own comfort and happiness were more important than McGee's productivity.

"I think these emails are in code. Listen to this—_Will meet you at Raccoon's, sixteen o'clock._"

"Definitely code, Timmy." She rested her chin on his shoulder, peering at the monitor, and then sniffed his hair discreetly.

"Problem is, I need a cipher and there's no way of knowing where it is or what it looks like."

"I like your shampoo."

"Thanks."

"Have you tried tracing the sender?"

"Of course. Comes back to a fake name. I could try digging deeper, but considering how thorough this guy's been so far…"

"Rule number 42, never leave any stone unturned."

"You just made that up."

She smiled. "Yeah."

McGee started to type away. He'd barely been at it for a second when a pop-up appeared on screen.

HELLO, AGENT MCGEE.

He hit a couple of keys. Nothing happened.

AND GOOD DAY TO YOU, MS. SCUITO.

Abby released Tim, and fell back.

"What—" He started.

YOU WILL NOT BE ABLE TO TRACE THIS E-MAIL. THE HARDRIVE OF THIS COMPUTER IS NOW BEING ERASED.

"Shit," murmured Abby. "Trojan."

I DO WANT TO HELP YOU, HOWEVER.

"Oh boy," McGee pinched the bridge of his nose. "This is bad."

LET YOUR SUSPECT GO.

They both started to type, twisting around each other to reach the keyboard, but their efforts were fruitless. The bug continued.

HAROLD YULE IS INNOCENT. I AM THE KILLER.

A string of curses flew from Abby's mouth. They gave up on trying to prevent the attack.

I AM THE EARTH AND THE SKY; SON OF DEMETER; I AM IN THE SHADOWS AND THE SPOTLIGHT. IF YOU CAN FIND ME, YOU WIN.

McGee sat back. He closed his eyes.

THIS PROGRAM WILL NOW TERMINATE. GOOD BYE.

The screen went black. Abby groaned.

"Gibbs is going to _kill_ us."


	11. Chapter 11

A very short chapter pour vous. Mostly filler, as I didn't have a lot of time to write today, nor did I want to try and pack a Jibbs scene in there. Maybe next. Also, in my opinion, it's a little weak writing-wise, but my editor doesn't agree and I'm usually too hard on myself. Alright...that's it for now. Hopefully 12 will be up by Thursday.

--

Ziva could feel the walls closing in on her. Crushing, black masses, like strangers come to take her, they hovered in the air. If she moved, they would come crashing down, rendering her unconscious and then slowly suffocating her. She was helpless to fight, and fightless to begin with. Nor could she flee, and she would not have even if the option was presented. People spent their whole lives preparing to die; what difference did a few decades make? Half a century? She had no choice, as it were. If she had to go, she would not go as a coward.

The elevator dinged, and Ziva David sat up at her desk. She could feel the exhaustion in her eyelids. A piece of paper had stuck itself to the side of her face. Tony snickered as he entered the bullpen, two paper cups in hand, as she gingerly separated the document from her skin. He placed one of the cups in front of her.

"Tea for my lady."

"Thank you, Tony." She removed the lid cautiously and sipped. "Have they had any luck with the riddle?"

"I was just about to go find out. Care to join me?" They headed downstairs, Ziva strangely sluggish and Tony strangely chipper for 0700.

In the lab, Abby and McGee peered over Ducky's shoulder. The good doctor was examining a paper on which the pair had written what they could remember of the cryptic message to them. Gibbs leaned against one of the counters and observed.

"Anything new?" Tony prodded, trying to get a look at the riddle past Abby and McGee.

"_New_ is not the precise word, Anthony. We have exactly what we began with, we have simply further analyzed it."

Tony blinked several times. "That's what I meant, Ducky." He glanced upward, puzzled. "I think."

"The most ambiguous part is here, _I am the earth and the sky; son of Demeter; I am in the shadows and the spotlight._ The psychological profile of our killer is not anything particularly original. A narcissist, one who is so sure of him he actually confesses to the deed—here, where he says _I am the killer_. Of course, it's not much help to us, but it does speak to his state of mind. I would hypothesize, that, like many others before him, is simply in search of his fifteen minutes of fame. However, there is that affection for NCIS—and your agents, in particular, which seems to contradict everything else."

"In other words, Duck, you can't get anything useful from this?" Gibbs grunted.

"On the contrary, Jethro, there is quite a bit to be learned. I believe we should pay careful attention to it, especially this part about Demeter and whatnot. He is trying to help lead us to him. Abigail, Timothy, and myself have already spent a great deal of analyzing the message here."

McGee spoke up. "Demeter is the goddess of the harvest, and she had eight children that we know of, more than a few boys. Did a little research," He scuttled over to the computer and began to type. A website appeared on the screen. "The one that the killer was most likely referring to was Philomelus, her son by Iasion. He had a twin, Ploutus. Story goes that Ploutus, who's the symbol of wealth, wouldn't share money with his brother. Philomelus has only two oxen, so he invents the plough, and survives by cultivating his land and growing crops. As a reward, Demeter puts him in the constellations as Bootes, with his plough as Ursa Major."

"Earth and sky," Ziva said to herself.

"Indeed, my dear," chirped Ducky. "This story could very well be a reflection of the killer's life. Perhaps he was shunned by a loved one, had to survive by his own invention—no pun intended—and expects to be rewarded in the end, perhaps even after death. No matter what it means, it is certainly crucial."

"We still need to figure out the next part, with the spotlight, but don't worry, Gibbs," Abby took an extended gulp from her Caf-Pow. "We can do it."

"Good, Abs. You, Duck, and McGee, keep working on it. DiNozzo, do a background on Felix Greene. Find out anything and everything."

"But boss, I thought—"

"Don't care what you thought. _Go_."

"Yes, boss." Tony muddled out like a scolded puppy.

Gibbs now turned to Ziva. She eyed him.

"Supervise DiNozzo." She smirked, nodded, and slinked out.

Gibbs sighed. The investigation felt all but endless. It had been over three days now—he knew that another thirty hours of this would leave him with the tattered pieces of three agents, a scientist, and a medical examiner/profiler extraordinaire. A normal case wrapped up in about the same time the current one had been open, and they got to go home to sleep. This was different, however. They left only for clothes, food, and coffee. With the exception of McGee's time in the hospital, of course. It was not a bad thing, though, to cover your ass. Besides, they were safer here, all of them.

His phone rang, and he knew what was next. Jenny's number flashed on the caller ID.

To boot, if they spent all their time at work, then they'd have to end up working eventually, and work meant one thing: _solve the case._


	12. Chapter 12

I apologize about the wait on this one…I've been going through some rough stuff in my personal and school lives, so I hope everyone understands. I'm recovering from being seriously sick (out for two weeks type sick), nearly failing math, and I just found out that I'm never going to get to ride my horse again. Usually fan fiction provides a release for me, but finding the time and the willpower has been difficult over the last week. Thanks for putting up with my whining.

I am in the process of trying to set up a livejournal account to post and archive my fiction on…if anyone has experience with the site and the NCIS fic community on there in particular, I'd love some assistance. All it would be is a couple of questions answered. PM me :)

Less than two days till the Christmas episode! Yee!

--

Director Shepard handed him a glass of bourbon.

"Look like you could use it."

Gibbs sipped once. "Thanks."

She took on a sofa in the corner, motioning for him to join her. He did.

"What's that gut saying, Jethro?"

"It could use a burger." She laughed briefly.

"_Really_."

"It's saying this is one crazy son of a bitch."

Jenny leaned back and closed her eyes. She worked twenty four hours a day, seven days a week. Moments like this, quiet and dark and calm, were like needles in stacks of paperwork and luncheons. She cherished them, especially when it was Jethro beside her. Somehow, his presence made relaxation come easier.

"Jen?"

She opened her eyes and looked to him with a weary smile.

"Jethro?"

--

"This is ridiculous," grunted Tony. "The guy told us Felix didn't do it, so why am I wasting time checking him out?"

"Gibbs obviously does not believe it," replied Ziva curtly. She stood center stage in the squad room, flipping through crime scene photos on the plasma. Tony was in a heap at his desk. "I trust his stomach."

"Gut."

"They are the same thing, no?"

"Yeah, but…" He shook his head. "I'm gonna spend the whole day on Felix, who's squeaky clean, while the asshole who shot Probie's running around out there. Hell no." He rose from his chair.

"If you leave, Gibbs will kick your ass."

Tony narrowed his eyes at her. "How come you know that one?"

"Practice. And besides, everything we know so far points to this boy. The killer used DDT, which we found on his property, was either a terrible shot or not trying to kill McGee—" She stopped midsentence, a grin spreading across her face. "We have forgotten something."

"What's that?"

"The asthma. We must subpoena his medical records."

"Not bad for a crazy ninja chick."

--

McGee had been the first to doze off, leaning against the lab's back wall. When Abby's fifth Caf-Pow of the day had worn off, she'd joined him, her head resting on his shoulder. Ducky was the only one who had survived. He smiled to himself as he took a momentary break from the riddle to observe his significantly younger coworkers resting. It was amazing how different people seemed asleep, their guards down and most childlike tendencies shining through.

The consistently stoic Dr. Mallard turned back to his work. He had been at this for hours—surely, nothing new would pop up now. There were at least thirty sheets of paper surrounding him, each one scribbled on and scratched at to the point that their legibility was called into question; crammed so endlessly with theories and patterns, none of which covered all the bases nor explained all the evidence, that Ducky was uncertain if they even made sense. After all, caffeine-fueled brainstorming sessions where none of the participants had slept in over twenty-four hours rarely resulted in anything but nonsense, and especially, incoherent nonsense.

He removed his glasses and massaged the bridge of his nose where they had been digging into his skin for thirty-five years. Jethro would be here soon.

And he was. He stalked into the room and had to stop for a moment, eyeing the sleeping scientists with some degree of surprised apprehension. Any other he would have shouted at them, wake up, but they'd been here all night and all day. When he spoke, he lowered his voice.

"What've you got, Duck?"

"Two hours of sleep in the past thirty-eight." Gibbs smiled. "Other than that, the situation is rather disheartening. As you can see, my companions have long since faded. Not that we made much progress when it was the three of us, either. In the end the answer to our question_, what in God's name does he mean?_, will probably be answered in some overtly simple manor, and I, along with Abigail and Timothy, will feel like a fool."

"There already gonna feel like fools when DiNozzo comes barging in here and sees them like that."

"Right again, Jethro."

And, speak of the devil, it wasn't seconds after the words were said that Tony and Ziva entered the lab, he looking ecstatic and she satisfied. They made no effort for discreetness; DiNozzo began to monologue on his own abilities immediately upon arrival.

"Boss, boss, how lucky art thou to have me, Tony DiNozzo, on your team, for I—Oh, simple me!—have had what they call in this here world in which we do live, an epiphany." His partner coughed, and he felt Gibbs' palm against the back of his head. "And Ziva helped."

"Spit it out, DiNozzo."

Tony was preparing to respond when he spotted Abby and McGee for the first time. Instantly, everyone was focused on the peaceful pair. Abby stirred, opened her eyes, glared up at all of them, and punched a still snoozing Tim in the arm.

"Timmy," she whispered. "They're staring at us."

"Mmm," came the response. "Too tired for that, Abs."

Ziva's eyebrows raised. "Too tired for what?"

"DiNozzo!" barked Gibbs. "Stay on topic."

"Uh, right, boss, um, we were thinking really hard about it and we realized all the evidence really _does_ point to Felix Greene. We even checked out the asthma—and he has a severe case. But, the Trojan said that he didn't do it, right? And then we realized, no, it said to let the suspect _go_, not that he was innocent. And then we thought even more, what if the riddle is just trying to say that he can be in two places at once?"

Ducky's eyes lit up. "The shadows and the spotlight!"

"I want a bolo out on Greene, _now_. You find him, DiNozzo, or else."


End file.
